


Self Preservation

by runs_in_the_family



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Anal Sex, Asphyxiation, Blow Jobs, But Not Between Our Boys, Denial of Feelings, Dub-con/Non-con, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Steve's New Boyfriend is Not Nice, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 15:36:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17831327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runs_in_the_family/pseuds/runs_in_the_family
Summary: Steve and Billy have, for lack of a better term, broken up. What they were doing wasn't serious, certainly not meant to be permanent. But now Steve's hanging out with some dickhead with a Chevelle and it's bothering Billy more than it should.





	Self Preservation

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumbler for the prompt "steve’s new boyfriend is just as mean as billy"

       To say that they’d broken up implied that what they’d been doing could be considered “dating”. In truth, there was nothing to break up. No relationship, casual or otherwise, to officially end. It was a couple of intense make out sessions that had led to some backseat blow jobs and a few, admittedly damn good, fuckfests.

       But that was it. Just no-strings, no-emotions sex.

       Granted, the idea of them actually dating was always out of the question. Aside from the guaranteed ruin of their social standings and likely ejections from their homes, they just weren’t compatible like that. They didn’t like any of the same things, least of all each other. Most of their rendezvous began and ended in an argument, with some world-class fucking sandwiched in-between. Insults were hurled, names were called, someone would ride someone else’s cock and then they’d flip each other off and go their separate ways.

       So when Harrington said he wanted to end it, Billy didn’t bat an eye. The guy had a world class dick and he’d managed to develop a hell of a gag reflex but he was still a pain in the ass.

       After a one-last-time romp and a promise not to stay friends, they’d abandoned whatever the hell the thing was and moved on. Or, at least, Harrington did. Kind of quickly, actually. Slightly, if Billy was being honest, too quickly for his liking.

       “The fuck is that?” He asked, scowl burned into his face as he stared across the parking lot.

       Tommy followed his gaze and, settling on the object of Billy’s attention, let out a quizzical hum.

       “That’s ah…Danny’s cousin, right?” He looked to Carol for confirmation. “Shit, what’s his…Patrick! Patrick Keats.”

       “Yeah, that’s him.” Carol nodded, squinting over a sea of cars. “He graduated, like, two years ago? Think he’s in IU now.”

       Billy’s thumb picked furiously at his cigarette filter.

       “Doesn’t look like he’s in I fucking U.”

       Carol looked at him and laughed.

       “Then he’s on break, I don’t know.” She scrutinised his frown. “Why do you care?”

       In lieu of a response, Billy just took a long drag from his cigarette, aiming his exhale at the ’70 Chevelle parked at the far end of the lot. It was a great car. Beautiful black paint job. Even at a distance, Billy could tell the thing was taken care of right. It was the kind of car that would almost earn it’s driver some semblance of respect from him.

       The perfectly-coiffed dickhead propped against the driver’s side door, however, wasn’t likely to get that courtesy.

       “Is he talking to Steve?” Carol asked.

       Harrington was hovering about a foot away from the guy’s car, hands buried in his pockets. Dickhead, eyes hidden behind a set of Ray Bans, was chatting away to him, shooting him a toothy grin that to Billy, and anyone who knew better, rang dangerously hollow. Every once in a while, Harrington would shuffle a little, surreptitiously inching closer and not being as discreet about it as he thought he was.

       Billy watched them intently. He honed in on every movement, trying to ascertain whether this was just talking, or if it was a precursor to Harrington leant over the gearshift of a Chevelle with some college guy’s dick in his mouth.

       Eventually, Dickhead pushed away from the car and brought himself closer to Harrington. The guy had a couple of inches on him, just enough to keep his head tilted and those brown eyes turned up. Billy’s lip twitched around his cigarette when Dickhead single-handedly grabbed at Harrington collar, pulled him forwards roughly, and then shoved him back hard enough to almost knock him off his feet.

       “Fucking with him, more like.” Tommy laughed. “Fuck him, asshole deserves it, right?”

       Carol giggled some agreement but Billy wasn’t really listening. He continued to work away on his smoke as he watched Harrington try to compose himself. Dickhead seemed happy about something. Billy hated him for it.

       He watched as Dickhead smacked a hand to the back of Harrington’s neck, staring down at him over his sunglasses and smiling. Harrington reached for the guy’s hand but it slipped forward, landing an small slap on his cheek. At least, it looked small. Small enough not to be a big deal but maybe hard enough it still make Harrington flinch.

       “Billy?”

       “What?” He grunted, eyes still trained across the lot.

       “We going or what?” Tommy asked, impatiently.

       Dickhead turned his back on Harrington and yanked the car door open, sliding in and shutting it with unnecessary force. The engine started up but, instead of pulling away, he threw a look at Harrington and stalled.

       “Think Billy’s pissed someone’s messing with his toys.” Carol posited, mockingly.

       It didn’t take long for Harrington to start moving around the back of the car and heading for the passenger’s door. He’d barely landed in the seat before Dickhead was roaring across the asphalt, kicking up dirt behind him.

       “Like I fucking care.” Billy went for another drag, only to stop midway to his mouth.

       All that was left was filter.

 

* * *

 

 

       “Come on, keep going.” Patrick kept a heavy pressure on the back of his head. “Not gonna stop ‘til I hear you gagging.”

       After he’d discovered Steve’s newly strengthened gag reflex, Patrick had made it his mission to make him choke. Even if it meant fucking his mouth until his throat was raw.

       Three weeks in and he’d still been unsuccessful. It only made him more determined.

       “Look at you. Barely fucking breathe with that thing in your mouth, huh?” He braced himself against Steve’s bedroom wall and started grinding into his mouth.

       Steve moaned around Patrick’s cock, breath coming in stuttered little patches through his nose. He’d considered, once or twice, just faking a gagging sound. Something to placate his fuck buddy’s new obsession and save himself from another aching throat. But he preferred it like this. He preferred Patrick angry and frustrated.

       The hand on his head twisted into a fist, anchoring it’s fingers in his hair and tugging.

       “Gonna choke for me, baby?”

       The dirty talk didn’t really do anything for him. It didn’t turn him off, per say, but it certainly didn’t get his blood pumping any harder either. But he preferred it to the alternatives. Silence or little moans or, worst of all, sweet talk. Sweet talk was what he didn’t need. Sweet talk was what he didn’t, in any way, want to hear.

       The first time he’d sucked Billy’s dick, he’d barely made it halfway down the shaft before he was dry heaving. Billy had laughed his ass off, told him he was gonna have to learn how to use that “pretty mouth of his”, and then proceeded to show Steve how it was done.

       “Don’t worry, pretty boy.” He’d smiled after, making no effort to clean his lips before kissing Steve. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

       The memory of that cum-speckled smile hit Steve straight in the gut. He shut his eyes tight, fighting to push it from his mind.           

       “Getting too much for you, baby?” Patrick asked, misinterpreting the look on Steve’s face.

       Steve just moaned again. It was a lazy attempt to pull himself back into the moment. Lazy and unsuccessful.

       “If it’s too much for you…” Billy had said one night, when Steve’s throat was still struggling to get used to the intrusion.

       The vaguely concerned tone had caught Steve off-guard. Still gasping from his last failure, he’d looked sideways across the car at Billy and was shocked by the passive expression on his face. The total lack of mockery or aggression. Immediately, Steve had dropped back down to Billy’s lap, grabbed his hand and pushed it to the back of his own head.

       “Don’t let me up.” He’d said. “Make me do it.”

       “Harrington –”

       “Come on.” He’d goaded, glaring up at him. “Don’t start pretending you give a shit.”

       He could still remember, almost too perfectly, the way Billy’s lips sealed up. The way they twitched a little and how his brow started to knot.

       Steve had dropped his eyes then and, a second later, welcomed the forceful push at the base of his skull.

       Billy hadn’t let him up until he’d swallowed everything.

       Two fingers clamped down on Steve’s nose and his eyes shot open. Patrick was smiling.

       “You gonna choke for me?”

       He instinctively tried to back away but the hand wrapped up in his hair pressed hard and drove him forward. Patrick continued pushing into him.

       His hands shot up, grasping at the tightly curled fingers, but the grip was too firm. He turned his gaze upwards, begging with watering eyes to be let free. A dark smile beamed down at him.           

       “Come on, baby.” Patrick purred. “Deep breath.”

       Steve’s body started lurching forwards, convulsing under the lack of oxygen. He gasped around Patrick’s dick, barely sucking in enough air to keep his head straight and, once he started, he couldn’t stop. He was coughing and spluttering, striving for anything to fill his lungs. All the while, the sound of laughter pricked at his ears.

       After what felt like too long, he was released. The sensation of Patrick pulling out was nearly enough to make him hurl. Before he had the chance, however, his jaw was clapped tight in a strong grip and forced upwards.

       “Open your mouth.” Patrick instructed, frantically jerking himself.

       Steve didn’t have a choice in the matter. He was coughing and gasping so hard, his mouth was in a temporarily fixed state of slack.

       The first spurt shot up his cheek. The second hit closer to it’s target, landing across his chin and into his mouth. It continued on and by the time Patrick was running dry, Steve could feel the lower half of his face coated in the thickness.

       “See?” Patrick smiled, using Steve’s bruised lips to wipe his head clean. “Knew I’d get you.”

       Steve stared up at him, face drenched in tears and cum, and nodded.

       “Yeah.” He croaked, throat ripped raw. “You got me.”

      

* * *

 

 

       Billy didn’t know whose birthday it was and he couldn’t have cared less. Birthday parties meant booze, free food and a reason not to be at home so, as far as he was concerned, that night’s birthday girl was his best friend for the evening.

       Or maybe it was birthday boy. He really had no idea.

       Eventually, though, the allure of the party wore thin. Only so much alcohol could grant him the strength to spend extra time with Hawkins kids. Sooner or later, their backwoods bullshit started to piss him off and, this time, it was sooner.

       He abandoned Tommy and the gaggle of followers he’d accumulated and headed for the supposedly empty back yard. The intention was to get five minutes with a cigarette and his own thoughts but when he reached the back door, lighter and smokes in hand, the plan was scrapped.

       Harrington was standing halfway down the yard, alone. He seemed a thousand miles away, stood with his head hanging low, thumbing his cigarette filter and staring into the darkness.

       Billy hadn’t seen him inside. Hadn’t heard his name mentioned once. He wondered if he’d come alone.

       After a moment’s hesitation, he pocketed his lighter and stepped out onto the grass.

       “Got a light?”

       The way Harrington jumped, it was as if he wasn’t even aware he was at a party. Like the sound of another voice was a shock to the system. He stared at Billy for a moment, seemingly contemplating how to respond.

       “Yeah.” He mumbled, eventually. “Yeah, sure.”

       He moved slowly, producing a Zippo from his breast pocket and passing it over.

       “Nice.” Billy said, inspecting the lighter rather than using it. “New?”

       A small frown crept onto Harrington’s face.

       “Yeah, how’d you know?”

       Billy paced a small semi-circle around him, forcing him around until his back was to the house.

       “Probably would’ve tried to steal it if I’d seen it before.”

       Harrington laughed slightly, flicking ash onto the ground and nodding like he believed it.

       “Like with my Walkman?” He offered, cocking an eyebrow and failing to hide a smile.

       “I didn’t steal your fucking Walkman, Harrington.” Billy insisted. “How many times do I have to say it?”

       “Say it as much as you want, I know you fucking have it.” The smile was let run loose then. “I know you do.”

       Billy smiled. Harrington’s Walkman was currently sitting on his dresser at home and he was never getting it back.

       After lighting up, Billy continued to play with the lighter.

       “Boyfriend get it for you?” He asked, flicking the lid.

       Slowly, Harrington’s face started to drop. He shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting around before coming back to settle on Billy.

       “Don’t have a boyfriend.” He said quietly, holding his hand out expectantly for the Zippo.

       From where they stood, Billy could see Dickhead inside the kitchen, chugging a beer. He waved his cigarette towards the scene.

       “What about him?”

       Harrington didn’t even look around. He turned his gaze downwards, taking a drag that Billy knew was a stalling tactic, and didn’t look up when he spoke.

       “Not my boyfriend.”

       A flicker of a smile slipped onto Billy’s face.

       “Slut.” He muttered.

       He’d expected Harrington to laugh again. It was supposed to make him laugh. Instead, Billy got a deathly glare and had the lighter snatched from his hand.

       “Go fuck yourself.” Harrington spat, turning back to the house.

       For a moment, he felt a frantic mix of confusion, regret and anger. It all mingled together into a sudden burst of adrenaline that shot straight to his mouth.

       “Hey!” He cringed when he heard how loud it’d come out.

       It worked, though. Harrington stopped, stayed with his back to him for a few seconds, then slowly turned around. Billy was met with another cold stare. One that seemed very un-Harrington.

       “What?” He asked, dryly.

       Unfortunately, Billy didn’t know what. He didn’t have anything else. But a long enough look into Harrington’s eyes told him what he needed to ask.

       “You okay?”

       Hearing it seemed to do something to him. His face softened. Billy watched him swallow and wet his lips, like he was fighting back the urge to say something. Eventually, he just shrugged.

       “Yeah.” He said, simply. “Fine.”

       It was almost believable.

       “Right.” Billy sighed, taking a small drag. “Like you don’t always have a stick up your ass about something.”

       Harrington rolled his eyes.

       “Jesus, this seriously all you want me for? Cause if it is, I’m going back inside.”

       Billy glanced into the kitchen again. Dickhead was sleazing on some blonde chick.

       “Hey, asshole?” Harrington called out to him. “You got something to say to me or not?”

       He watched Dickhead copping a feel of the blonde’s ass. The image of him doing the same to Harrington made Billy’s fingers twitch.

       “Guy that’s not your boyfriend seems like a real dick.” He observed.

       Harrington didn’t turn to follow his gaze. He just scoffed.

       “Yeah, guess I have a type.”

       Billy kept his eyes glued to the antics inside, smiling a little at the insult.

       “Guess so.” He whispered to himself.

       Dickhead leaned in and stuck his tongue down the blonde’s throat.

       Billy’s eyes drifted back to Harrington.

       “Well, your mistake to make, pretty boy.”

       The instant those two words left his lips, he realised how long it had been since he’d said them. He and Harrington hadn’t spoken in over a month, not even passing insults in the hallway. Until that moment, the weight of that fact hadn’t dawned on him. Nor had the realisation of how it made him feel.

       By the look on his face, Harrington sensed it too.

       Billy cleared his throat and sniffed.

       “Fucking Indiana.” He scoffed, taking a deep inhale off his smoke before chucking it to the ground.

       Harrington blinked away the dumbstruck look in his eyes.

       “What?” He asked, confusedly.

       Billy motioned vaguely into the air as he started moving for the back door.

       “Always so fucking cold here.” He explained, keeping his head down.

       He breezed past Harrington and almost made it inside before the weight in his chest pulled him to a stop. It took him a few seconds to speak. If he’d been facing Harrington, he probably wouldn’t have been able to.

       “Might wanna get a new type.” He advised, swallowing down everything else he wanted to say. “We’re not worth it.”

       He didn’t hear a reply and, frankly, he was grateful for it. Then, because he hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it, he found a reason to say it again.

       “Take care of yourself, pretty boy.”

       Billy shot into the kitchen and through the house, making his way out the front door as quickly as possible.

 

* * *

 

 

       Love is meant to be beautiful, the general consensus being that it’s a feeling that’s practically unrivalled in it’s perfection, that it changes your life and makes your world brighter.

       Steve was pretty sure that that was only true when it was reciprocated. Because he knew the other side of it. Love, when it’s not returned, was more painful and humiliating than anything else the universe could throw at a person. So he made sure to protect himself from it.

       You don’t go after the one’s who could make you happy. The one’s who make you feel safe and warm. They’re too easy to fall in love with and more likely not to love you back.

       It’s better to go for the one’s who don’t give a shit. It’s better to know you’ll be treated like garbage, than to suddenly be dumped headfirst into a trash heap without any warning.

       He and Billy always gave each other shit. They argued. They hurled insults. Steve couldn’t stand anything about him. It should’ve been a safe bet.

       One night, though, after some beer and mutual ridicule, they’d wandered up to Steve’s room to do what they did best and, mid-way through the second round, Steve had started to feel that something was different.

       Billy was between his legs, slowly grinding into him and sucking kisses onto his neck. There was nothing noteworthy about it, apart from the obvious, until Steve recognised the heat rising in his stomach.

       At first, he’d chalked it up to the sex. It was the obvious explanation and the easy excuse. But he knew it wasn’t the same as the warm twist he got before he came. It was worse. Because when he paired it with the tightness in his chest, he knew what it really was.

       He’d started getting anxious then. For a moment, he’d considered telling Billy to get off of him, but the urge to do so couldn’t fight off the feeling mounting in his chest. The one that wanted him to shut his eyes and hold on tighter.

       Billy had broken from his neck then. He’d moved up and caught Steve’s lips, pressing deeper into him and curling out slowly.

       When he pulled back, Steve could feel himself shaking. Billy leaned in then and pressed his lips against Steve’s ear.

       “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

       Steve had shut his eyes and held on tighter.

       Four days later, he’d ended things with Billy.

 

* * *

 

 

       Steve grit his teeth as another smack came down on his ass.

       “Fuck is the matter with you?” Patrick asked breathlessly, driving in and out of him. “Haven’t made a single sound all night. What, I’m not fucking you right?”

       The next smack seared into his skin. It took a few seconds of controlled breathing before he could answer.

       “No, it’s not – ”

       “Wanna hear you fucking moan for it.”

        Steve shut his eyes and bit his lip.

       He wasn’t even hard. When they’d left the party, all he’d wanted to do was go home and go to bed. Alone. But Patrick was driving and there was no way he was “driving all the way across town and not getting anything for it”.

       It wouldn’t have been as bad if he could just get it up. But it wasn’t working. None of it was working.

       “Fuck do I have to do to get you going?” Patrick demanded.

       The heat rose up in Steve’s stomach. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes and stared into his sheets.

       “Call me pretty.”

       Patrick didn’t slow down. He just grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled Steve a couple of inches off the mattress.

       “What?” He panted, punching into him.

       Steve hated himself for asking. Hated himself even more when he had to repeat it.

       “Can you…” He winced a little at a particularly sharp thrust. “Can you call me pretty?”

       For half a second, he felt himself suspended in the silence. It was far from quiet, the wet, rhythmic snapping filling the room, but for the moment that Patrick stayed silent, Steve was overcome with something anticipatory. Something a little hopeful.

       When a wave of laughter erupted behind him, he curled in on himself a little.

       “Jesus fucking Christ.”

       It was all Patrick said before shoving him back down, driving him face-first into the pillow and holding him there.

       He started going a little harder then, though how that was possible, Steve didn’t know. But he did, enough to make Steve fist the bed sheets and tear up. Even with his face buried in the pillow, he could still hear the laughter ringing out around him.

       It was probably better this way.

      

 


End file.
